


Hearts Left Behind

by remanth



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Warden Death, post-Origins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 23:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12715248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remanth/pseuds/remanth
Summary: There's a monument Alistair visits every day alone.





	Hearts Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

> A little background for this story: my first ever playthrough of a Dragon Age game, I flirted with everyone and made sure everyone liked my Warden, romanced Alistair, persuaded him to become king, and died killing the Archdemon. This takes place after the end of Origins and focuses on Alistair.
> 
> I think I'm a little late for Alistair appreciation week but I'm glad I wrote this story anyway. He's one of my favorite characters in the whole series.

A gray sky threatened rain through the window of the Council meeting room. King Alistair Theirin sighed and dragged his attention back to one of his ministers. The man liked to drone on during these meetings, evidently enjoying the sound of his own voice. Or maybe he enjoyed the thought that Alistair’s attention was on him during his long speeches. He was getting cynical, Alistair thought to himself, and fought to stop a shake of the head that would have derailed the minister’s speech. He wouldn’t have stopped it except for the fact that, once before, he’d tried distracting the man hoping he would cut the speech short. Instead, it had resulted in the man going over every point all over again, firmly convinced he would have missed something otherwise.

Five other people sat around the table. There were three women and two men, each in the colors of their respective guilds or specialties. Everyone wore warm, thick clothing against the cold. Alistair was the only one in black but that was all right. He was the only Gray Warden here. Besides, a treacherous little voice whispered in the back of his mind, he was still in mourning, wasn’t he? Glasses of spiced wine sat in front of each person and two empty pitchers sat in the middle of the table. As usual, the Council meeting had run long and they’d drunk all the wine. Alistair never had pages attend these meetings to refill the wine. He hoped, most of the time in vain, that the lack of further refreshment would induce the ministers to keep their speeches short.

Finally, thank the Maker, the man brought his speech to an end. He bowed in Alistair’s general direction and sat down. When Alistair nodded solemnly at him, the man nearly glowed with pride and satisfaction. Taking a deep breath, Alistair looked around the table at the men and women seated with him. The long-winded minister was the last to speak, though everything he’d just gone over verbally was in the written report sitting in the stack in front of Alistair. 

“Is there any other business anyone would like to discuss?” Alistair asked, struggling to keep his tone steady and even. A headache threatened at his temples, exacerbated by the speeches. Head-shaking answered the question and Alistair hid the small smile that brought to his lips. “Then I call this meeting to an end. Have a good day, everyone.”

Alistair rose first and all the other ministers followed him. They bowed and filed out of the room. A few started talking as they left though about nothing he needed to be concerned about. Just a little court gossip. It seemed like Denerim ran on nothing more than gossip sometimes. He would keep an eye on it though. It seemed like the Game Orlesians liked to play was starting to make its way here. He waited until everyone had left, the last woman out closing the door behind her, before sinking back down into his chair with a sigh.

Three years since he had taken on a crown that he didn’t think he was ready for. That he still wasn’t sure he wanted. Though there wasn’t anyone else knocking down the door to be king. Not with the lingering pockets of darkspawn still causing trouble, the refugees displaced by the Blight, and the need to rebuild the kingdom after the Blight. Three years since the Archdemon fell to a Grey Warden’s blade. Three years since she fell.

Looking out the window again, Alistair saw that it was nearly time for his daily journey to the outskirts of Denerim. Everyone knew he left around this time, knew where he went, and knew not to interrupt him. The first person who tried, back during his first month of being king, had been met with the blade of his sword. He was only glad that they hadn’t seen the tears in his eyes. They’d only seen the blade and heard the anger in his voice. Wisely, no one had interrupted his daily vigil since.

Stopping in his rooms to set the heavy gold crown he wore to Council meetings on a table, he let out a relieved sigh. About the only times he wore it were Council meetings and whatever royal functions he couldn’t get away with not wearing it. The thing brought up too many things he wasn’t sure how to deal with. Then he slipped out of the castle, making a game of it and taking the back ways and unused corridors so no one saw him.

He bypassed the stables today. With the storm threatening, he didn’t want to make a poor horse stand out in the cold and the wet. Maker knew, he’d spent enough time in the cold and wet himself to not wish it on another. As he walked through the down, he saw his people hurrying home before the storm broke. A few hardy merchants stayed in their stalls, calling their wares to the passers-by. A few even stopped. Alistair stopped at one merchant selling meat pies and roasted apples to buy a pie and apple for himself. The Council meeting had lasted through lunch and he was starving.

“Majesty,” the man said, twitching his upper body forward in the suggestion of a bow as he handed over the wrapped meat pie and roasted apple.

Alistair nodded back as he handed over the coins. The merchant dropped the coins in a metal box underneath the stall and turned to the next person waiting behind Alistair. The meat pie kept his hands gloriously warm and, as he walked, Alistair slowly alternated bites between it and the apple. The apple was sticky-sweet, honey coating the outside. Both were delicious and he was quite pleased with his late luncheon.

More clouds gathered as he made his way out of town though the threatened rain didn’t start. Instead, a chill wind picked up, slicing through his clothes as it whistled through the streets. Once he was outside the walls, the wind was even colder and sharper, no longer blocked by buildings. Alistair finished the last bites of his lunch, wishing he’d thought to bring a cloak. It hadn’t looked quite so cold outside before.

His footsteps slowed as he started up the worn-down path to the summit of a little hillock outside town. It was far enough away that he couldn’t hear the bustling and noise from the town but still close enough to feel safe. Though he hadn’t heard any reports of darkspawn in the area, and he didn’t sense any nearby himself, being out in the wilderness alone still wasn’t advisable. Bandits managed to thrive alongside the roving pockets of darkspawn. If only they would kill each other off, two worries would be off his mind. Alistair chuckled to himself but the sound died away as he neared the summit.

Anger, a deep, smoldering, intense anger took its place as he saw someone swathed in a cloak standing in front of the monument there. It had been erected over the grave of the Hero of Ferelden and no small amount of work had been put into it by Alistair himself. The sword she’d used to slay the Archdemon had been mounted in the marble front of the monument. He marched angrily up behind the person who dared disturb his vigil, prepared to make them leave. And then the whispered strains of a familiar song in a familiar voice made him stop. All the anger drained away and he stepped up beside the woman companionably.

“Hello Leliana,” he said softly, unwilling to speak louder. This was too solemn a place for that. “How have you been?”

“Hello Alistair,” Leliana replied, turning a little to give him a sad little smile. “I’ve been… busy. How are you?”

“Busy,” Alistair chuckled. “It’s good to see you again. Been a long time.”

“Nearly three years,” Leliana said, turning back to the monument. “So long and yet, it feels like no time at all since we lost her.”

They stood in silence then, Alistair having no reply that wouldn’t bring him to tears. Just being here was enough to bring him to tears most of the time. And with the anniversary coming up, the feeling was even stronger. Most people thought the anniversary was a victorious one, something to be celebrated. Sometimes, Alistair even agreed. But most of the time, he could only remember what he’d lost that day.

He eyed Leliana, wondering where she’d been. She looked a little more careworn, a little more tired. She didn’t have the unwavering confidence and belief she’d once carried around like a glow. Instead, she seemed to sink into the shadows of her cowl, her eyes bright and hard. The last Alistair had heard of her, she’d gone back to the refuge of the Chantry.

Having her here brought up other memories, other questions. Where were their other companions, those who’d marched alongside them and fought at their side against an Archdemon and a darkspawn horde? Morrigan had disappeared after that final battle though, true to her word, she’d fought as hard as the rest of them during it. He’d thought about looking for her but hadn’t cared enough to. They’d been hesitant allies and it had been a relief to find her gone.

Wynne had gone back to the Circle to help rebuild for as long as she could. The spirit keeping her alive only had so much more power to give and she’d died not long after the tower had been repaired. Zevran was still on the run from the Crows, last Alistair had heard. He got infrequent notes from the assassin, mostly a tally of Crows sent after him that he’d dispatched. Alistair hadn’t really understood why Zevran kept in touch until he’d realized they were the closest thing he’d had to a family after the Crows. After that realization, he hadn’t minded the notes.

Oghren and Shale had disappeared into the Deep Roads together. They’d made no announcement of their intentions, instead leaving early one morning a week or so after the final battle. Oghren had left a note behind saying goodbye. It had been weighted down by an empty mug that still smelled of the beer he’d drunk for breakfast. Perhaps they would find more information about the Anvil and the dwarves who’d made Shale into a golem in the first place. Or maybe they would find darkspawn. No more notes had been forthcoming and Alistair doubted he’d ever see them again.

The mabari she’d saved before her initiation lived in the castle with Alistair. He liked the dog and Oliver liked him. He couldn’t stand the thought of turning the dog away or giving him to another master. Besides, he was a connection to her. She’d loved the dog and often spent evenings around the campfire with Oliver a warm, snoring bulk at her side. And that was that. Their company had all gone their separate ways, though each had paid their respects at her grave before they left. All except Leliana. She’d never been here, as if she couldn’t stand the pain of standing at the grave. It made Alistair wonder what she was doing here now though he couldn’t think of a polite way to ask. 

“So, what brings you here now?” he asked finally, giving up on polite. It wasn’t really him anyways. Direct, that was how he’d acted and spoke before.

“I see you haven’t changed much,” Leliana said, making a sound that might be called a chuckle. “Always to the point with you. I like it. As to why, I felt it was time.”

“I see,” Alistair said, wondering if he should be flattered or insulted. He decided on flattered. “I come here every day. Just to be near her. Talk to her.”

“You loved her,” Leliana nodded. “I can see how it would be a comfort.”

“So did you,” Alistair replied. “I don’t think anyone who met her didn’t love her. And it tears my heart out every time. But I can’t stay away. It’s better to feel the pain than the emptiness.”

Silence fell between them again after those words. Lightning flashed in the distance followed by a deep rumble of thunder. The air thickened but still no rain. At least the cold wind stopped. But Leliana huddled deeper into her cloak and Alistair wished yet again that he had remembered his.

After several moments, Leliana stepped forward and placed one hand on the monument. She murmured what Alistair assumed was a prayer as he couldn’t hear the words. Then she stepped back, tucking her hand back inside her cloak and pulling it tightly closed. Tears glimmered on her cheeks.

“Would you have changed it, if you could?” Leliana asked, more breath than voice. “Taken her place, if you could?”

“In a heartbeat,” Alistair replied with a bitter little laugh. He crossed his arms over his chest, tears pricking at his eyes. It was to be one of those vigils then. All right. He could shed tears for the woman he still loved. “But she was gone too quickly. You know what the last thing she said to me was? “I love you, Alistair. Be safe. Be happy”. Then she was gone, sprinting at the Archdemon like she’d gone mad. I could only watch as she plunged her sword into its head, sacrificing herself to kill that monster.”

“I’m sorry,” Leliana said softly, wiping at her cheeks. “I would have done the same, if I could. But I wouldn’t have killed that monster. Only you or her could have done it. She was so brave and so strong. I miss her.”

Alistair’s throat closed up at the simple admission. Tears tracked down his cheeks, burning hot in the cold. Memories of that day flooded back, as sharp and vivid as if they had just happened. After the blast of the Archdemon’s death, he hadn’t been able to do anything but stand and stare. It was a good thing the area was clear of darkspawn because he would have been an easy target. Then he was running, running as fast as he could to her side. He’d ignored the giant dragon corpse, instead focusing on the smaller corpse lying next to its head.

He’d picked her up gently, cradling her close to his chest. Her eyes were blank and staring, glassy in death. Gentle fingers closed them and he’d bowed his head as tears flowed from his eyes. The others ran up to him, a few crying as they saw the body in his arms. Zevran had offered to help him carry her but Alistair had shaken his head sharply and held her even closer. Zevran had nodded and stepped back, all of them forming an honor guard around him. 

The next clear memory he had was of standing over her body on the simple stone bier surrounded by all the people she’d saved. There were no dry eyes in the gathering and quite a few people held hands. They’d all been given a second chance. They’d been given their lives back by the woman lying before them. Alistair had no idea how he’d given her eulogy, how he’d kept his voice steady and loud enough to carry over the assemblage. He did remember, distinctly, the ache in his chest and the burning tears in his eyes. He remembered how his voice caught when he said she was loved, his hand resting over his heart. Even now, three years later, he could remember each and every word he said. They echoed in his nightmares.

Then, of course, came the work of surviving the rest of the day. People needed to be fed, injuries tended, the dead gathered and burned properly. And they were all looking at him for orders. He’d managed to set aside his grief enough to work, taking care of the people. His people, now. It was never quite forgotten but he managed to make it through the day. And the next and the next and the next. He moved from one task to another as if clinging to a lifeline, giving it all of his attention before moving on.

When the monument was being built over her grave, Alistair worked as hard as anyone else on it. He didn’t know stone carving but he was a willing set of muscles and he was put to work. And if tears dripped onto the ground or on the marble, his fellows were kind enough not to mention it. By now, everyone knew what she had meant to him. What he had lost when she’d killed the Archdemon.

“I feel guilty sometimes,” Leliana said, breaking the silence and startling Alistair out of his thoughts. He’d almost forgotten she was there. “Surviving and being happy about it. As if it’s a betrayal of her. There are days that I forget she’s gone. It’s funny, isn’t it? We all seemed to be charmed, surviving fights that should have killed us. In the end, we all lived but her. We all got to see the end of the Blight but her.”

“You’re not the only one,” Alistair admitted. “If I’d been just a little faster, it would have been me instead of her. I feel guilty about that. There was a moment in the battle when we looked at each other, wondering who would sacrifice their life. She chose faster. I feel guilty that she chose for me to live and I feel guilty that I feel guilty.”

“A vicious little circle, isn’t it?” Leliana laughed, though the sound had no humor in it. “But she wouldn’t want us to feel that way. Wouldn’t want you to feel that way. She told you herself, remember? “Be safe. Be happy.” And we should. For her, in thanks for the life she gave us. Or so I tell myself. It never seems to help.”

“No,” Alistair agreed, wiping at tears that had managed to escape his eyes. More thunder growled, closer than before. He looked at Leliana, studying the lines around her eyes. Perhaps now was a time for secrets told, for letting go of pain that had wrapped around his soul. “You know, a few times after the monument went up, I had nightmares. I would dream she was alive, buried under the stone and dirt. That she was smothering.”

“Oh, Maker,” Leliana breathed, sympathy in her voice. “That must have been horrible.”

Yes, it was,” Alistair nodded and took a deep breath. The next part, he’d never told anyone. “One time, during one of the worst nightmares, I found myself outside. I was covered in dirt and my fingers were bleeding. I was standing here, in front of the monument, in a pair of breeches and bare feet. I’d been clawing at the monument, digging into the dirt, frantic to get to her. Blood and dirt smeared the monument where I’d clawed at it. When I realized what I was doing, I cleaned it up as best as I could. The next morning, I heard rumors in the market that the monument was being haunted. People had heard heartbreaking screams in the middle of the night. Their words. “Heartbreaking.” As if my heart wasn’t already broken.”

“I’m so sorry, Alistair,” Leliana said, putting a hand on Alistair’s shoulder. “I wish the Maker had been kind and granted you a long life with her. You both deserved that.”

“Maybe,” Alistair shrugged one shoulder. “It’s not what came to be. So now I try to be the kind of king she would have been proud of. And I visit her, every day. Sometimes I talk to her, tell her what’s going on. Work through thorny decisions by telling her my options. I think she would have enjoyed it all, to be honest.”

“I think she would have too. She would have loved just being with you, Alistair,” Leliana said. “We all saw how much she loved you.”

Alistair nodded, at a loss for words. It had felt magical, so perfect and overwhelming when he was with her. He had loved her more than he had ever thought possible and still did. If only there had been some way for both of them to survive. But it was impossible. Nothing he had ever heard of would kill an Archdemon and keep it dead than a Grey Warden’s hand on the blade. A death was required to kill the Archdemon. There was no other way.

“I’ll see her again,” Alistair said suddenly. He didn’t need Leliana’s hand on his shoulder to feel her stiffening.

“Alistair,” Leliana started to say before he held up a hand.

“No, not like that,” Alistair reassured her. “I’m not going to send myself after her before my time. But it will be my time at some point. Being a Grey Warden assures that. My Calling will come and that will be the beginning of the end. I’ll see her again in the fade and we’ll have that time we should have had now.”

Leliana squeezed his shoulder. They stood in silence for several more moments, each lost in memories. Alistair was glad Leliana had come, had finally said goodbye at her grave. It was nice to see an old friend, to remember someone they both lost. Alistair put one hand on the monument as Leliana had done, murmuring a prayer for the soul of the woman he loved. Then, he and Leliana turned as one and started walking back towards town.

“What is next for you?” Alistair asked as they walked. “Going back to the Chantry?”

“Yes and no,” Leliana replied. Her voice was full of surprise and determination. “I’ve been called by Divine Justinia to be her Left Hand. For the foreseeable future, that will be my life.”

“I wish you luck,” Alistair said, surprised himself. The Left Hand was not an easy life. But if anyone could handle it, he thought Leliana could. “She chose well, I think.”

“Thank you,” Leliana said, a smile in her voice. She stopped outside the gates and stared up at them. “This is where I stop, I think. I just came to say goodbye. I wish you luck as well, Alistair. And remember her last words. Be safe and be happy. As happy as you can be.”

She hugged him impulsively and they clung to each other for a moment. Then Leliana stepped away, pulling her cowl closer around her face. She melted into the shadows and Alistair lost sight of her. He waited for a few moments, wondering if he’d see her again walking away. But she didn’t appear and a warning rumble of thunder sent him hurrying into town.

He made it to the castle just as the skies opened up and cold, stinging rain pelted down. Feeling like a little boy again, he ran across the courtyard, the rain soaking him to the skin in the short time he was outside. He slammed a door open and rushed through, startling a maid with sheets in her arms on the other side. She yelped and then bowed on recognizing him. Alistair waved the bow away and the maid hurried on with her task.

The trip back to his rooms was accomplished as easily as the trip out had been, Alistair seeing no one on the way. He changed into dry clothes and poked the fire into roaring life. Then he sat down in the chair in front of it and poured himself a glass of spiced wine. As the storm raged overhead, shaking the stones of the castle with the thunder, Alistair thought of the past and the future. And he thought that he could follow his beloved’s last request. He could be safe and he could be happy. As happy as he could be without her. He toasted the fire and downed the last of his wine. Then he slipped into bed and went to sleep, determined to be the king she would have wanted.


End file.
